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by aka_pine_writer



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, Kink Meme, Knotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 01:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aka_pine_writer/pseuds/aka_pine_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident with dragonlings puts things into perspective for Anders and Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme request for something fluffy with the possibility of smut. This fic has knotting: if you don't like that, you might want to skip this one.

Anders does not want to die- it is only natural, after all he has been through, that he should want to cling to the living earth as long as possible. He just had too many things to get done before he died.

He has grown up in the Circle, escaped it seven times, survived joining the Wardens, survived leaving the Wardens, had taken a spirit into himself and had made his way to Kirkwall, setting up shop in Darktown to help the refugees and any others who needed his help. He always relied on himself. He always beat the odds, always managed to weasel his way out of serious trouble, always managing to deflect it elsewhere. If he was cornered, he fought tooth and nail to protect himself. He was a survivor, and he was good at it.

Yet, for whatever reason, when that damned elf is overwhelmed by dragonlings on yet another trip to the Bone Pit, he loses what little sense he has. When the beasts have fully knocked down and covered that prickly elf, Anders throws any and all caution to the wind, bearing down on the beasts with a roar of rage.

He should know better; in the back of his mind, he is yelling at himself, questioning his own sanity and demanding that he retreat and let Hawke and Aveline take care of this.

But if he waited, Fenris might- no, that was not going to happen.

He doesn’t feel pain when one rips into his leg, he doesn’t feel it when his arm is nearly torn out of his socket. He doesn’t care; nothing will take the elf away from him while he is there to prevent it.

Eventually, all of the beasts are dead, the smell of magic and ozone strong in the still, rancid air. Fenris, that damned elf, is staring up at him in what looks like horror, his body mostly unscathed.

Relieved, Anders offers him a savage grin, then promptly collapses. He is out the second his head smashes the ground.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He awakens later to Fenris growling and snarling in his face. He blinks, feeling oddly light- ah, Aveline and Hawke are carrying him, Fenris following alongside and hissing like an irate goose at the healer. Anders can’t find it in himself to care- the elf is fine, and he himself is a Warden and healer, so he’ll be fine too. He manages to shut the elf up with an unexpected, perhaps unappreciated gesture- he grabs and holds onto the warrior’s hand.

Well, at least Fenris had stopped impersonating a goose long enough that they make it to Kirkwall without much more fuss on his part. 

Hours later, after Hawke and Aveline help Anders settle into his clinic, Anders watches the two women leave. They are so close, so easy in their friendship. They share laughter and touches, an easy and cheap currency that means the world to them.

Why couldn’t he have that? Was it too much to ask for? He falls asleep, totally at ease with Fenris’ brooding presence.

When he awakens in the middle of the night and tries to leave, Fenris resorts to using brute force to pin the mage to the cot, ignoring the snarling and growling from the healer. He had been away for two days- at the very least, he could see a few patients that had minor wounds-

“You’re not touching anyone else until you’ve healed yourself fully,” Fenris growls. “Get that through your thick head!” It is of no consequence- he is used to harsh words, used to the pain of Fenris’ nails clawing at his back, down his stomach, on his thighs. 

They are close as well, on the opposite spectrum of Aveline and Hawke- there is nothing easy or carefree about their relationship. They are both broken men, though when they are together, there is some semblance of normalcy, if only because they both accept the other unconditionally.

It aches, sometimes. Sometimes, it aches too much. 

“Let me go!”

“Never.”

Never? Did…did the elf mean something by that?

“Please, mage, rest. I will watch over you.”

It is that simple statement that calms Anders enough that Fenris can settle him back onto his cot, carefully tucking him in for the night. By the time morning comes, the elf is gone, and Anders has enough energy to fully heal himself.

~~~

When Fenris returns two days later when Anders is dousing the lantern to his empty clinic, Anders is both relieved and annoyed.

“Please,” Fenris murmurs, pulling Anders into an embrace, lavishing licks and kisses along the mage’s neck- extremely tender and out of place for the elf. It was odd, very odd, and it should have frightened Anders.

Anders, despite his feelings, gives in for once without a fight- he doesn’t want to fight now. He had almost lost Fenris- almost had lost everything. Anders did not want to confront that- if he admitted it honestly, he was greedy. He didn’t want anyone else to have Fenris and he didn’t want to give the elf up.

“I’m yours,” he whispers, smiling slightly at the surprised intake of breath from the warrior.

They’re not gentle by anyone else’s standards, but it is delicate by their own. Anders, again, gives in without his usual fight, letting the elf push him behind the curtain that separates his private quarters from the rest of the clinic. Instead of ripping and tearing their clothing off, each piece is slowly pulled away, layer by layer, until both men are naked and kissing.

It is not sweet, not with their previous history between them, not with the threat of this gentle, alien thing turning into one of their normal, violent couplings. Yet, Anders breathes it in like oxygen, encouraging the elf with soft noises and gentle strokes along the warrior’s flanks.

Fenris pulls away, eyes looking soft and gentle in the dim light. He caresses Anders’ cheek for a moment, watching with amusement as the mage leans into the simple touch.

“May I have you?”

Again, this is alien. Normally, they fought for dominance in bed. Depending on circumstance, who had more energy, and who successfully utilized their environment, either one could win. Indeed, of their couplings, Anders estimates that he had won roughly half, mostly through cunning and magic.

Anders wonders, vaguely, if Fenris is trying this approach as an experiment, or if this is some strange idea of courtship that the elf wished to try. It would make sense- they were both broken in different ways, so it would only make sense if they did everything…well, backwards.

Though the request is unheard of, Anders does not hesitate. 

“Yes.”

Fenris, despite the situation, doesn’t change his routine for preparing Anders. Even when he was completely pissed off at the mage, he never, ever skimped out on fully stretching Anders out. That was one of the constants of their relationship- even when he was pissed off, even when he was brooding, even when he was lost in his past, Fenris always made sure to take care of the mage.

Anders had wondered, often, if it was because the elf really did care, or if it was because the former slave had experienced sex under inexperienced or uncaring hands. He had yet to ask the elf.

The mage rolls onto his stomach, lifting his ass to the elf, head bowed against the covers. This is their normal position; both of them, for whatever reason, couldn’t stand to look at the other as they fucked, not after their first time. Anders didn’t question it. Why should he? It was a little demeaning sometimes, to be taken like a bitch, but Fenris certainly knew how to make the mage howl.

Anders winces reflexively as a finger lightly probes his entrance, relaxing when the elf starts speaking in Tevene, the language low and soothing for once instead of harsh and demanding. The warrior’s finger withdraws, his hand tapping lightly on Anders’ rump. Without comment, Anders conjures a handful of grease, offering it wordlessly over his shoulder. Fenris rumbles his thanks, scrapping the handful from Anders’ hand to his own. When the finger presses in again, it is much smoother and it is easier for Anders to relax.

One finger turns to two, then three. The elf tempers the invasion by licking and kissing the skin of the mage’s rump and lower back. Anders sighs, hips tilting and pushing back on the fingers, silently encouraging more.

“All of you,” he whispers into the sheets. “I want…I want all of you.”

The fingers inside him pause. “You would take my knot?”

It is a strange thing, but Anders does want it. He’s only taken it once before, when they first slept together and neither of them really could control themselves. It had been a bit of a shock- one moment he had been riding on top of Fenris, the next he had been on his back, screaming into the night as the elf’s knot had shoved fully inside him. He had panicked afterwards, being stuck together with Fenris for so long a time. Later, the warrior told him that they had been tied together for only twenty or so minutes. To Anders, who had been terrified that any moment Fenris would rip his insides out, it had been an eternity.

But he knew better now. He would dare to say that he knew Fenris better than anyone in this city, even Hawke or Varric. Fenris would never kill a bed mate- unless the person he had just bedded tried to kill him or use blood magic.

He had not taken the elf’s knot since- too worried at the idea of being locked together with Fenris for such a length of time, of being utterly at the elf’s mercy. Yet now…he wanted nothing more than exactly that.

“All of you,” he whispers. “Please. I’m yours. Show me I’m yours.”

“On one condition,” Fenris rumbles, fingers crooking inside Anders and pressing sharply on the mage’s prostate, drawing a shocked gasp.

“Anything,” Anders breathes, wriggling frantically, trying to get more stimulation.

“I would see your face.”

That…was unexpected. At this point, however, with the elf’s fingers deep inside him and driving him insane, Anders doesn’t really care. He rolls onto his back, arching his hips in pleasure as the warrior started pumping his fingers inside him once more.

This…this was strange, Anders muses, staring up wide eyed at the elf. Fenris just looks so vulnerable, so open, despite the fact that it is not he who is about to be laid bare, about to take another man’s cock. Those green eyes, those lovely green eyes…they look so tender, look so sweetly upon him.

Anders wonders, briefly, if the elf hit his head on his way to Darktown.

Then he is being kissed, and all thoughts regarding Fenris’ head vanish. Anders takes a deep, calming breath as the elf pulls back. He watches avidly as the warrior coats his erection with the oil left over in his hand. Fenris holds out a hand, and Anders fills it with more oil that the elf immediately drizzles over his shaft, particularly his swelling knot.

Anders calms himself as the elf scoots up against him, cock bumping against his rump, leaving a slick trail of oil behind. Fenris catches his gaze, and Anders keeps his eyes locked on Fenris’ as the elf slowly, painstakingly slowly, breaches him.

Anders breathes deeply, coaxing his body to relax, to accept the familiar intruder. Fenris gives him a few more moments, then pulls back a little before slowly sliding home, stopping just shy of his knot. Anders lets out a soft sigh, pleasure rippling through him gently. Fenris changes his angle slightly on the next few thrusts, searching again for Anders prostate. Anders lets out a soft cry when the elf’s cock glides firmly against it. For whatever reason, this slow, agonizing pace is more intense than their usual speed and ferocity. Anders looks up into the warrior’s face, entranced by the look of tender affection on the other man’s face.

“All of you,” Anders begs quietly. “Please…”

The elf leans in, kissing him deeply. “Are you sure?” he asks, hips still moving steadily, his knot brushing lightly against the mage’s entrance.

“Yessss,” Anders hisses, arching his hips to try to encourage the elf. “Please!”

Fenris plants another kiss on his lips, licks the mage’s chin, his throat, his neck and shoulder. While he works to distract the mage, Anders can feel the knot pushing against him. He breathes in deeply, quickening in both trepidation and excitement- he hadn’t been untruthful, after all. He wanted all of Fenris, even the parts that frightened or scared him.

The elf pushes firmly, steadily, and with a cut-off groan, shoves himself fully into Anders.

Anders, for his part, can’t vocalize anything, his mouth just hanging open in shock. He is being stretched beyond his limits, he has never felt so full, so-

He lets out a whimper when Fenris leans in to lick the shell of his ear, voice low and rumbling like thunder. “I am uncertain if I can remain gentle or slow. Let me know when you are ready to continue.”

Anders lays there, breaths coming in short, sharp pants as he tried to get used to the invasion, the utter sense of being completely owned. He is at Fenris’ utter mercy- the elf, with his knot inside him, is not going anywhere anytime soon.

He nods after some time, and the elf immediately starts up a mad pace, drawing surprised cries from Anders as the warrior starts to shove and pound into him in earnest. His thrusts are short, rapid, and sharp- his knot, which Anders feels quite distinctly, is still growing, rubbing firmly against his prostate.

Anders stares up at Fenris, mouth slack as the pleasure quickly replaces the shock of pain from the intrusion. The elf looks savage- mouth open, teeth bared, eyes flashing as his hips move sharply and the sound of their bodies slapping against each other fills their ears.

“Say it,” Fenris growls, hand reaching for Anders’ cock and grasping it harshly, drawing a grunt from the mage. “Again!”

“I’m yours,” Anders gasps, hands grasping the sheets tightly, his body tensing, coiling-

“Mine,” Fenris growls, tugging and pulling and shoving and fucking-

It is too much- the rapid pace, the swollen large knot inside him pressing ruthlessly against his prostate, and Fenris, sweet, ass-holey Fenris growling out such possessive things…

Anders comes with a wail, eyes clenching shut and cock jumping and spurting in Fenris’ hand. He clamps down on the elf’s thrusting member, drawing another growl from the warrior.

“Mine,” Fenris whispers as Anders slowly comes back to himself. He keeps his hips moving, the fast pace and ruthless friction almost too much for the mage, sensitive from his orgasm. _“Mine!”_

Fenris snarls something in Tevene when he comes, collapsing on top of Anders with a grunt. 

Beneath him, Anders groans as well, feeling the elf’s cock twitch and jump inside him, filling him with Fenris’ seed. Fenris stays on top, lazily kissing the mage as biology did its job- the knot kept them locked together, much to Anders’ mixed fear and happiness.

“Why?”

Anders wonders this himself. “I…I don’t want to lose what little I have,” he murmurs. “I don’t have a fancy house in High Town, I don’t have a ship, I don’t even really have citizenship anywhere. But…I do have you. And I nearly lost it the other day because I didn’t stop to think things through.”

“Not to mention you could have died,” Fenris replies dryly.

“Oh. Yes. That wouldn’t have been good at all.”

He had wanted to be tied to Fenris, if only temporarily and now he has to suffer the consequences of such a joining- he can’t run away from Fenris’ questions or walk out if they started to argue. For better or worse, he was sticking this out.

“So you think you have me?” Fenris asks after a moment.

Ah, he had made a mistake, the mage thinks, feeling his heart clench painfully at the realization. Pushing the thought away, Anders glances down at their entangled forms, wincing at the feeling of the elf’s cock still jetting cum inside him. “Well, for another twenty minutes at least, right?”

“Longer…if you would have me.”

Anders stares, watching in amusement as the elf’s ears turn red, and he glances away from the healer’s scrutiny. Fenris could out drink the best of them, had no issue whatsoever of ripping people to pieces with his bare hands, and was mostly uninhibited when it came to bedroom activities. Yet this simple, albeit vague, statement made him blush. It was almost…cute.

“Would you stand beside me?” Anders asks quietly. “Let the whole world know that you…want an apostate for your bedmate?”

He almost says ‘love’ but stopped himself. Fenris had not said it, so neither would he. Perhaps, deep down, it wasn’t needed.

“No,” Fenris replies, just as quiet. “I would tell the world that I would have this man before me, this paradox of a mage, for my lover, my friend, my partner, my only.” He kisses Anders’ cheek softly. “I am in no position to offer you anything more, Anders. But what I do have, I humbly offer it all to you, myself included.”

Anders would be the first to admit that he had grown up on romance novels- not only did they provide mental stimulation, but they also gave him inspirational ideas to try out later in his life when he had started to be sexually active. 

However, he would be the last to admit that, deep down, he was a romantic. He didn’t swoon or anything, but he could appreciate a heart-felt (if slightly corny) line when he heard one. And even though Fenris has not said THE word, his words and actions speak loud enough for the mage to hear.

“Thank you,” he says, giving the elf a peck on the lips. “And I offer you all I have, all I am.”

“All of this…on one condition,” Fenris says, face taking on a stern countenance.

“…yeeeeees?”

“Don’t ever do something that stupid again.”

“I make no guarantees, love.”

“We won’t have sex. For a month.”

“…you drive a hard bargain. I’ll do my best, Fenris. Is that good enough?”

“Yes,” the warrior says, curling up against the mage, mindful of their still linked bodies. “That’s all I can ask for.”

When they meet up with Hawke and the others the next afternoon, they act as they have normally for the last year or so around each other; there is no public affection, no snarling or snapping at the other for nothing.

However, when they feel that no one is looking, they share a look; a look of happiness, their eyes smiling as they looked on the other.

When the Chantry blows years later, Anders flees the city, his home, his life, his friends…All except Fenris, of course.


End file.
